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Simply Complex

 The Simply Complex

The codification of Existence and the Collective Mind.

 This is no prophecy; indeed it is nothing at all. It is a few words linked together so your eye can take up the signals of reflecting photons and transform them into meaning. Neither I nor you know how the light from each stroke of the pen will be interpreted. Indeed I am using a pencil but how would you know what the truth is and would it matter. The word itself is used to convey a meaning, pen and pencil in context represent a way of realization. The pen and the pencil are composed of a different substance; one ink, the other lead; yet their purpose remains the same, hence they are singular in nature, if purpose defines what something is. It wouldn’t really matter but one paragraph down and now it is all that matters.

Everything can be taken from its most simplistic form and mutated into a complex creature. This mutation or transformation highlights our very existence….The simply complex.

The absurdity of the pen is its great power, to change and record. Indeed it is the pen which dictates our lives; the brute strength of blood seemly powerless next to the nibble hands of some historian. The historian devoid of his own history becomes history itself. Perhaps if we are totally nothing in the term of the meaning of something then we become it, but that is a silly thought because this is a book about Nothingness. You may never read this “book”, it may never be read by anyone, but if you are reading it, it has been read and therefore you are its creator, hence because I am not an author I become one. Hopefully you are willing for the moment of time to formulate its mass so that we can enter a world in which we are nothing in all certainty.

 Chapter 1:

The Simply Complex


Once there were 4 and the 4 became 2 in a simple act of unity. As the 2 did the most simple of things the most complex mechanisms came to work. Electrons and chemical compounds swirled around and feelings of new found oneness formulated. The brief encounter had a simple effect and fulfilled a very simple need at its most primitive state. When two become one a string of randomness emergence. The eventualities of interactions can be calculated to the very first occurrence of mass and energy, in set laws, defined by its own parameters. The most perplexing thought is that on this small planet, as insignificant as it is, it is the choice of matter which chooses that produces results outside which is governed. Like the first metals produced and the swirl of plants to the star our choice to become one ultimately recreates a universe. This choice is no real choice as we will see for it is not that a singular can dictate the universe in isolation, it is the interconnected universes which produces the ecosystem of minds in which both start and moon are set within the laws which govern the individual mass of many.

Born out of this realization or set in it, it is only natural that a few months later 2 very different women learned of their 1’s inside 1. The first lady was surprised that a 1 could be inside and so they were really more than there number implied. She had used all the right erases and yet she could not have accounted for this simply complex situation. The other very different women had hoped for a 1 inside 1 to occur and so did her number 2.

If a chapter is meant to be a long dictation of thought ended by the turning of many pages; then it stands that thought and pages are malleable to a point or may diverge in their convergence. Maths seems to take us to the point quicker when we want to get somewhere fast, but words are the flesh and numbers substantiate its logical progression, neither one dominating over the other but its dominance subjected to the mind ability to interpret the message within the least amount of time.

Chapter 2:

The realization of Choices

 We bear witness to one another, yet we seem to loss all insight of our own reflection. Perhaps it is the reason for an angelic host which stand in condemnation of our actions at the end of time. I am not saying that time is real, no time is a liquid which flows like a river down towards the great open lake; enough time, enough keep your madness at bay until this chapter can come into existence. So where was I…. Yes, reflection was and is a mirror of self-contemplation, for in the moment, we stand witness within ourselves, the angelic host not a human thought but a static investigation.

You see it was not the two women’s choice that what had happened had occurred, they did not choose it yet it was. The other had hoped it and it became. They are no different in the end as they bore witness to mankind. That is the conscious mind may will it but the choice of witness produced it; that is we all end up in the sea. Like the cycles of weather, some water drops are pulled up by the sun only to rain and return to the great lake with the passing of time. In the end it is really a static motion of events, this is my belief. I can have a belief if you deem it to be mine or it may not be one if we agree. If we agree then the subjective becomes an objective reality. I know that nothing under the sun is new. Many have believed this belief and thus in the context of the witness it has become a subjective collective realisation of reality itself.

 Chapter 3:

The subjective collective.


I would not want you to lose sight of the 2 women of numbers at odds, but for now we must get lost in subjective to understand how simply complex the story has become.

The point in time has come; the point within the picture that you now must know or see the collective subjective. May I warn you reader, perhaps I should have before: that you must hold your own in the battle with your predisposition.

I contemplated this belief before I knew that another man had; although I learned that some one thought it before me, it remains my belief and his belief in isolation, although it is both our beliefs…

I thought and it was not as it usually seems to be. Truly an interaction of thought produces a new state of being. The collective subjective is the notion that what we think about and belief in at the same point in time; that such a unification of thought is an objective reality. One person to believe it, the next to confirm it and a third to substantiate it. The spread of the subjective objective reality is proportional to its size, as the influence of such actors on the priors of others fortifies the original strained of thought. It would seem that the prevailing order at the time of the collective subjective realization becomes a reality onto its own. Regardless of its subjectivity it produces an actual objective state of reality. This reality is however only as real as its root; thus regardless of its seemingly objective nature it retains it subjectivity in spite of its believed objectivity: holding that the root only formulates with a change in state of being, as in time.

It is not clear how this relates to our soon to be’s but our subjective collective will become the reality which we see, for they may contain an object truth or yet another illusion of it. For the simplicity of our journey let us say for now that this is a dictation of reality as it is, if held static the objective arises. Only the flow of thought could change its state, but the “book” is a moment in time. When you enter the pages, only at the end can one change the state. We are thus in a timeless dimension of the mind the book a second in formation.

Chapter 4:

The awaking of the awake and the sleep of the awoken.


At this point the mother’s names are to be formed so they may name their children; but time flows in ways we do not understand fully, so the names of the mothers may not be mentioned but for the sake of the chronological order let the mother who hoped be called Marian and the mother who did not Lilith. To Marian she bore a child called Nathan and to Lilith, Angelica.

Marians Great Love, rushed at the news that their son was about to enter the world outside the whom. All biological pieces hidden by the clock face of love and joy which the son would bring. His mind did not know that his hope was that of passing ½ a copy of himself. It may also be true that the cogs are love and joy and that the biological is the face of the clock, but the subjective objectivity must remain for us to understand his long drive towards the place where his wife lay. The rain was falling in waves across stone plans and metal mountains, each gust mimicking his beating heart and Marian’s cyclical pains. It was as if they were one with the earth, transgressing space itself and subject to time only. Red robot, green robot, Red robot, Red robot …splash crash..^.^….^………….. it remains a choice of cog or in essence, either when set to the mirror, which you hold to will dictate all which follows.

Love is a deeper thing than we realise when it is first conceived. The memorial of her heart, unbeknown to Marian, was an inner song she did not write nor sing: “The world will turn as it stands, regardless where you lay your head tonight, I miss you eternally. I hope your choice is your will and that love, which is the great myth as it maybe, is found in packets of reality beyond time and space, its fluidity being static. Then perhaps it would last in the moment it was set. Like stone upon its foundation it’s wore down only by the flow of its own entity. I’m drunk with sorrow, sleep calls me to its grave.”.

Not knowing Marian became akin to Lilith, for no man hoped her child to be and now like her neither women had a choice for it had been dictated by the witness of another. Truly the cause of their unity was in motion the moment the Universe took its first breath.

Now the toil of the mothers produced a slumber whilst as before the beings created grew closer to becoming what time would unwrap.


Chapter of stories

Chapter 5

The 7th year of existence.


The day had arrived with the sweet scent of dew kissed roses and fresh breezed lilies upon open waters. In the harsh world of dust and thorn wooded trees lay Nathan in reeds bordering an oasis of flower flowing rivers. His mother was at work in a facade of a dress to hide the rays of lost life. 7 years had passed and her labour to bring her child into the world had pain followed by joy; now she laboured in relentless strive to feed a meaningless existence. To her this long cycle with in cycles would hopefully bring forth the joy that that day did, but her heart found unknown pain which such joy had followed. To her joy was loss and today marked both her joy and reason and her sorrow and non-existence.

Nathan peered through the reeds, not old enough to understand the he was given birth to and that his life had a point where it began. He knew only what surrounded him, and this was the reality of his being, the world as he knew it. He knew no dream of an alternative life or a path not taken for regret had not yet formulated nor hope.

This day ,the seventh year of existence , was different from the rest , he knew not how but as he saw his mother in a dress that she wore to the house within the globe of lush watered gardens, he began to think… “Why is it that when we walk out of this oasis that our world is transformed to dust and dry trees and with it my mother appearance”.

It was the day Nathan became aware of two realities within one being. 5 fish later and a piece of bread; the dust dirt sky light with flowing gold and deep dark purple rolled across the wide set valley only to fall down the cliff pecked mountains. “Nathan”, his mother called. They walked together, the gentle autumn breeze seeking winter nights; silence upon the path was spoken by tapping feet as they trod the well wore path of days.

The home light by glowing whispers of fire, Nathan stretched his hand to find his mothers and asked “Mama why is it that we live in dust at night and water by day”. Because we have no choice”, she said. “And if we did then what?”, “If I had, then my child you would never know what dust is.” “Why did the dust choose us”…..and she wept.


Tower of stone, blood brick and bone. Lilith painted her face and kissed her ruby red lips. “Angelica, my angel dust”.” “Mama, why?”. “Because I have to.” In silence Angelica sat, the setting sun called a lonely heart. She was always alone at night; at 7 years of age she thought “why am I alone in the darkness of the world”. Never before did she realise that she was, she had never contemplated a different existence, one in which she could ask “mama why am I alone now in the weak light of the moon”.

Angelica looked through her bed room window onto the darkly light street. Through whispering trees she saw her mother kiss a man on both faces. The two faced man was pleased that the night fallen and framed his red ruby price. She would string the chords of her voice and enchant the creatures of the dark. Angelica’s mother story was simple. She had slept with a man she barely knew.  She decided to have the child, mostly out of fear and guilt of not. It was during this time that she trained her voice and inner soul. Still young and beautiful she was scouted out at dinner where she sang every Saturday night. Now on her road to success and fame, her career was blooming. Her daughter, whom she loved, was still not to be found by prying eyes, only the man with two faces could see Angelica and not know her. He played Lilith and Lilith played him so in the night they would transform in a facade of Ruby reds. Angelica saw two worlds that night, her hidden truth and the clock face which the world saw and heard when her mother enchanted souls in a song and sway of hips.

Nathan sat in the kitchen that day, although he spent many years in the house, the older he got the more he ran and played outside. Mrs, the lady of the house was always kind to him and often brought him treats when she came home. He didn’t quite know where she went each day but he did know she disappeared in a cloud of dust. Mrs’s husband said that Nathan spoke well and had a kind of flare about him… “It would be better for him to attend a school out of the valley, Miriam?”  Miriam had known that it would be best but had eagerly had awaited for Mr Boss to notice this. She had strictly enforced that Nathan was only to listen to an radio station of Mr at home and that he only spoke the language of the water garden house at day. “Why can’t I listen to the stories with the other children mama?” “Because Nathan if you speak like the men on the radio station you have or like Mr and Mr’s house then no one will know you a child of the dust. You my son are to be dust mixed with water”. “Ma”, he protested, “that would make me mud!” “No my son that would make you fine clay.”

The acquisition of commonality.

The morning air was crisp, the grass not frozen, yet the liquid inside each dew drop sparkle absorbed the needed warmth from a wading sun. It was 5 am as the curtains parted. Nathan now awake stretched towards the sky and his mother hurried to get him ready. He and his mother waited patiently on the road, their breath betrayed there hidden hearts rhythm as clear air turn to misty fog.  Mrs drove up the road in the cloud of dust. Today Nathan would now know where Mrs went; he got into the car and through the dust they burst into the Hill Crest Town.

Mrs asked “are you excited Nathan”…About what Mrs; about your first day at school of course. “Well” said Mrs’s son. “I can’t really be excited about something I don’t know, maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow”…and they laughed, although Nathan was not quite sure about what, he joined in the humours exchange. ABC, ABC 123, 123 ABC and xy=z.

Nathan’s schooling years were stranger than most, to be a learner who had less than friends and foes imposed a forced humility. He had learned that silence was best and that laughter not understood was needed regardless of its value in humour or understanding at least. It was this that propelled him to excel as he no longer was content to be a child of mere dust. His grandfather had warned him before his passing from the realm of the living: “My son you must not forget that you are dust mixing with water, if you forget then you will only be mud and not clay. For clay knows it is of the earth and for its humility when fire burns and scorns its bare chest, a useful and precious vessel is created.”

Nathan’s time in class and book differed little from one day to the next or really from one year to another. Other than harder work, stronger hands and higher eyes, this moment in life was a constant, a season within the solstice of life.

The earth was broken into a whorl of dust; each hard pressed foot print splashed the ground, leaving a mist of the object past. Nathan ran to the house of green water gardens as he had when he was once a child, the dogs howled in rage at the trespassing feet, only to jump in joy at the smell of the known. Mr Boss startled at the rush of a beating heart on fire, almost shouted… “Nath what’s happened…” “I need to speak to my ma, ma mother”. It was then that he saw a large brown envelop in the boys hands, his own heart jumped with joy and sadness as he knew the value of life which it held.  Miriam tried not to rush to her son, and held her own heart at a steady pace so its strength would not fail if needed nor its joy display her sorrow and long labour. Mrs stood at a distance almost tearful in anticipation. Her children long gone and far away, Nathan and she had discussed the meaning of this day since she first asked of ABC’s. He now saw his own hope given away, slowly realising the point in time he opened the letter in the most dignified manner, he could not help hoping and radiating the hope within as he did. Something’s are far beyond the control of the mind when the body and soul is overwhelmed by the power of thought.

“My boy a full scholarship at the best of the best, I must have a whiskey with our future president or at least my future accountant, free of course”.  Nathans’ mother gave Mr an ice cold look, but it soon melted away as she realised that her hope was their joy today… Nathan tasted his first sip of the people of the water; ice cold and warm, he smiled and so did the world which surrounded him.

It was the final examinations and the clocks ticked its passage. Every second that past drew nearer to the future which was hoped. The clock tapped towards that which already existed, but Nathan knew that it could change its path if he did not concentrate on the present. The hope fuelled his mind; he fought against the world of no-choice. He liberated himself and 7 pages done then silence, which he practised, was all around as nerves hands and careless ones handed each white and blue paper in the order of names.

Nathan helped around the farm as he waited for the summer holidays to pass. He worked and the sun burned upon his face. He sat waiting for his mother outside the house and not in it as many mud men boys grew increasingly envious of the water mixing dust at the oasis. Mr called Nathan and sat him down by the fire. Miriam waited in the kitchen for her son. “Nathan your properly know the situation by now. The government has made it hard for us to survive here. It is increasing ignorant that its people must eat and so it allows for the wolves to come in and kill the flock and the shepherd of the land. You know that my wife and I have always thought you were the greatest of children. I remember your father as a child, although I cannot be sure of the memory myself for I was even younger than him. We often played down at the river, I use to taunt him that the mud on his skin made no difference and that he didn’t need to clean himself after…He would be only washing off his own skin. Mr laughed, a sad laughter, he shook himself awake and continued. Nathan you are like you’re farther in many ways but your mother is strong in you. The best of both people is a rear thing to inherit. You have your father’s blood and your mother strong heart. It was lucky that you farther had your mother; he was far too wild and also far timid and gentle. Your mother was a wipe to the will. Nathan hardly knew what Mr was on about but he listened closely as he spoke more in that hour about his father and mother than Miriam had told him in a life time to that point. Alright Nath I am afraid I lost what I wanted to say but hopefully you’ll understand one day. Mrs will take you next week up to the university and I will send money once a month so that you can enjoy yourself a little, just not too much my boy.”           Mr smiled again in remembrance of a time past. Come now said Mrs you’ve had one too many and the boy needs to get home. You have a lot to do tomorrow Nathanial; we need to tackle most of the weeds in the garden and a few beasts are lost up in the mountains to the south. They said good night; he and his mother walked the path back home.

He thought about what Mr had said as he sat beside the fire, whilst seeking his mother as she set the kettle alight. He saw the past in which she was a different being; both the world contextualised her and her, the world. In the valley his mother was different to the context of her husband’s arms and the hill crest town. How strange that he only knew this dimension of her or at least how well she hid it from others. Miriam looked around, Nathan get back here, and he smiled. “Sorry mama I was lost up there”. I know, but just stay with me here for a while. I want you with me as much as possible before you travel far away from me.

“Are you excited Nathan”…”About what Mrs”. “About your first day at University of course.” “I can’t really be excited about something I don’t know, maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow”, they laughed. It strange how the more we learn and experience the more the potential for a common laughter arises, humours is a remembrance after all of a shared experience. What is most perplexing perhaps is the laughter of a child. When a child laughs it is in true purity devoid of memory yet connected to the present in a manner which is lost with age. It maybe that it is a higher state, in which the laugher emits from a place before the creation of mass or a known collective pass we share , that is a mind yet formed. Yes laughter remains the minds great expression, a release of energy from potential state stillness.

Nathans life and his mothers were one; her, his lens and focus. He strived for a dress that would be her own and sparkle like the night sky to speak of inner beauty outwardly. To Miriam, Nathan was a world onto his own, in which she was the earth and air. They were still one, as in the unity of conception; it was no less than the womb of flesh shared blood and a heart to keep.

Marian sat in the back seat of the car, listening to her son and Mrs conversing in flowing poetry she barely understood. Her laughter was not in common with them. This was a shared state of mind and history she did not possess. She looked at her son in deep love and happiness, sadness developed as she wished that it was her and her Lost Love who shared laughter of things Nathan could not understand. Her laughter would then stand testament to a shared existence, that which is formulated between souls bonded by a unique experience no other could see. There is another type of laughter in the world that which is shared by people whose experience jointly created history uncommon; only the specific individuals are unified in this realm with one another. This is the mark of a world created in a box in contrast to a world shared by all or a universal commonality.

It was joyful sorrow as she kissed her son goodbye. Miriam hoped that he would not become separated from her; Nathan looked at his mother as she faded away. Mrs and she would return to the dust cloud just in time for the sun to set. Nathan smiled in deep waters… “Mrs is also a child of clay as is my mother.” How strange that he had not seen it, how beautiful was there likeness, their unity unknown nor would it ever be realised that at the green water gardens, water and the dirt mixed in the valley. The valley created clay and mud as it swirled with dust and water. Mrs clay by the river and Marian the clay by the rocks.

 Chapter 6:

The life of Ordered Chaos


Angelica flew on a plan above the earth; she knew that this would be a place where she would be in the sky, a place where the world was not connected to the earth itself. No one would know it was her, the daughter of, but it didn’t matter because no one did, yet here nor would she. The flight was short and she landed… strange country, no metal or concert to border, only green sloping mountains and a sea breeze.

There is a hill upon many hills where seeds take root, for when the simplistic is lost in a mist of complexity; it becomes only as easy as the minds ability to grasp 1 simple fact, the simply complex. To know the journey has just began; open closed angel eyes and sneers which will their way are the illusion. This world is one where the mind is moulded and time becomes space. The state is all encompassing for the world of books allows for time to stop as the mind produces or taps into a plan beyond our physical existence. The hill upon hills and clock tower of ancient rite is not an illusion, it is a pause of reflection, a moment in which we explore what we are already and make the choice to become it. A privilege of a few, a privilege, what privilege is it, when it was already to be so and the creatures that pause had very little hand in its making. The moment begs no question to be answer although it formulates the question itself. Sleep scholar sleep for this is a time where dreams are made. Be sure that the effect of the awaking is fully remembered for a dream is a dream but from it the impossibility of the mind creates a reality which may become the subjective collective truth of a set period of time.

The measurement of time itself produces a static moment when the reflection occurs upon it. Time may flow or it may not according to the greater clock but when it is measured as a set, then the changing state is not a change of small units but an entire moment of absoluteness. 1 +1 =2 but 2 it equates and thus although its sum parts are comprised of 1’s it finality is 2 thus it is 2 and the ones are but a measurement of point along it.

Time only started to show a defined period of being once was measured by a conscious mind, the universality of a set period defines its nature and upon that which it acts. Before measurement it was only a change of state. It was neither passing nor had an expected coming, only an ever changing vibration. The clock and its cogs are the facade of a dress that time wears for man.

All stood in front of the tall stone building with its old vine tree serpents crawling across the clock tower. Old men and wise women stood on steps facing the mass; they wore long black dress and grand hats to symbolise the status of the minds they warmed. Like a preacher of text the rabbi of the tower looked upon the flock of students and spoke his words. Silence fell they could not understand fully the duty he bestowed them nor why he said what he did. The text was a code that would only be known once the time of their journey at the school of knowledge would end. The Vice Chancellor had seen many walk through the gates of this world, he knew to that many would not understand or remember the speech. The ones who did remember would know its meaning and the words would be unlocked but for now he planted the seed and hoped it would grow.

The house of men on top the hill was alight with rushing hot water and strong spirit drink. They ran like children up the corroders and howled into the night. Freedom of rule imposed and light life was the word of the day. The house was comprised mostly of first year students, the other was the house committee to guide or join in on the fire. This was the induction week into the new world; it was the easing in and the slow awaking of eyes. Like pups to the light each boy-man started to see new landscapes. The night was young but not as young as the fresh minds it held. The sun had set and moon had risen on such hearts and minds from the very day the first firsts blazed in the realms of boy-men books. Jackets and boxer briefs; Knock knock, howling whistles , cling cling, crush cold, bubble bubble huddle huddle, brew,  sweat and trouble. “Haha, Nath come on my man lets go… hang on I’m I’m…..” Nathan didn’t understand, he wanted to protest the noise but the chaos had no order to argue against. Walking down the street the members of the boy-man house approached a palace of sweet lavender and jasmine air. Soft laughter and whispering trees met both strong and nerves bare legs.  Like Romeo to Juliet they sang their chant and the ladies listen in seduction of ruby red blush and virgin rosy cheeks.

Angelica, painted her face disguising her true beauty and enhancing the features deemed desirable by the glossy pages and royals of nations. “Angelica, you slut…hurry, you going to miss it”. Her heals tapped their tune to the balcony, she scanned the open plain with little interest, many a man had chased and battled for her soft lips and blue eyes. The wind blew her hair, chaos around did not touch the calm of her presence. She was the eye of the storm, her sigh the only hint at the power of the wind around her.

Each wolf, dog and bear put his name in a hat and the girls drew the random soul that the night had chosen. Hand in hand they walked to the great tent. All houses where there, mixing in the pot of cheap wine and laughter. The music played and all jumped onto the Merry-Go-Round of madness.

Morning had broken, some unlucky and lucky woke up to regret or joyful bemusement. Nathan stumbled, his head pierced by thorns. “Don’t worry chap, one slice of black on bread and a whole cup of green liquid sugar and you’ll be ready for the day”. “How mad was that Nath, I saw you had quit a look at Sammy canny…dog”. Nathan was displeased, he and the random number of the night had, had a pleasant conversation and the remark had stained the white vestments of the encounter. He was glad the sun had risen and that the mist had past, but even he knew that he was not the same man he was when the black clouds of sky dimmed out the moon or any light that would reveal what had occurred in disguise. It is this dilemma of moral order or biological disposition which had created civilisation. Man can howl in the night or deep thought might raid his cave but in the end the sun rises to ask the questions of the howl, it the curse and gift of minds which exist as universes onto their own.

Everyone who spoke was an anonymous voice, not many knew the many and all grew as if from fresh stock of life. Slowly person by person connected and a conscious entity awoke. A collective being formulated, their laughter that of new borns.

“Angelic, you look soooooo rough”. Eyes red and breath of inner turmoil seethed from her skin and wet tongue. The eye of the storm was her calm but the fury that surrounds the eye was the wild that the other drank. To drink is to numb, to drink is to lose one’s own and become what the substance dictates. Confidence, speech and laughter are the game of truth.

O wine how many have believed you to be a veil, if only they knew that you are not but the stripping of cloth to reveal the naked body of your entry. More than enough of you will expose what lies beneath to the point where it is displayed on the canvas of a floor or worse the head to where the lower half of the body suggests its animal.

“I can’t remember a thing”. “I can, I remember my member. I feel like a feather does to the weather, slither my sly you weren’t that shy, you cry and beg and I feed the dead the world forgotten to you is my pleasure. Please just keep it to yourself” she begged. Howl, slober ,wink put your pen to the ink. Few knew yet many, Angelica did not.

The question of the week:

“Hi my name? You from? What do you study?”

Answer: “My name is, yours? Where you from? I study; O me to!”

That’s all that was needed to set in place foundations upon which the world would be built. The ghost stone Nathan set connected him more too flowing time and not the static moment in which they resided. “I’m from here” said he but ever so careful he did not allow the full nature of dust to be revealed. He knew the moment was static and when time moved he would be mixed well with water. He forgot the clay that was hoped. No here he would not practise silence he would be, but in doing so he denied himself to be created in full or burned to a vessel. A ghost has no substance only the illusion of lights figure to speak of its presence.

The nights of howls happened more often than not, the mixture of old and new students at play did not create a new place but solidified the realm, it was only when those who had entered time and returned did the static nature of the hill upon hills show its face. It was a short term, many returned home to places which they no longer knew as their own. It was in the holidays that they were far away from the minds of the others, the world they came from shifted and swirled, like sea air is to the land the clouds still obscured and surrounding them.

It was most strongly felt in Angelica and Nathan for both had been more ghost and light than objects shifting within static being. The others had escaped the world they re-entered or at least disguised by the cloud; they took with them only the change when entering flowing time. This is not fully true as there are two states of time when one existence formulates, the static moment and the time which moves. They had separated the movement that the static formation had created in the world of book and placed it within.

Two of one world and times of two measures

Nathan felt the icy winds approach; he looked east and walked across streams and dry grassland with an animal weighted with the weeks supply. The sharp tooth shepherd ran towards the shack shelter, she was ready to gather the flock and protect against the intrusion of unknown feet and the belly crawls of dark and light. Nathan saw the warmth of grey smoke rise from the stone brick chimney, egger to be next to the grey which painted the picture of the sky, he called out. Two young boys ran down to meet him. Clearly happy to see a face burned deeply by suns past and to see the man behind the skin. He handed the horse over and asked whether they had brought the flock into the fenced cave. “Yes we have” they said proudly but one speck of shame and he inquired further. Well…. said the one, we lost two; We looked the whole day but couldn’t find it”. Don’t worry, before you return tomorrow we will seek it out. Nathan knew from experience that if only one day had past the animal would be alive if it they had not fallen down a rock face or been kissed by a belly crawler. Such was life in the wilderness, one moment the land held and feed the next it fell away and ate what it had given.

Angelica looked around the corner; her mother was drinking wine with the two face man quarrelling about something she did not care much for. She had come home to an empty house and she would escape the loneliness of her room as she had so many times before. She painted her face and phoned a few friends she had made from the world of book, deciding to ignore the calls from friends of flowing time. She tip toed past the door and entered stone metal streets. “Angel my sweet spice, kiss on the cheek”. The men around looked at fresh college meat, the older hunted hard and the young men who accompanied the rose flowers thought little of it. Their scent was enough to keep their queen bee and the swarm that surrounded her. They danced to their feet and tapped the cheek, more feet, hotter heat ……. “Um ,mmm please, I want to , take me home”; “come on one more.”

Angelica stumbled back up the stairway touching the cold marble as she balanced her way up. The boy-man held her step whilst losing his own. They moved in rhythm and fell through the door. The two faced man stared hard and with one look the boy left the kill he thought he had, although it mattered little other than the night, he had often tasted Angelica sweet sprit breath and knew that he would taste it again.

Angelica stood at the door in silence, “Where is my mother?”, “She is mixing with her kind. “Come here you goose; I can see it you know, mmm now I can feel it. I always knew that the one day you would lay like butter and flutter”. The mark of five flashed and thunder followed, blood rushed to its colour. The two face man was both beast and gentle of man. He sniffed the air, no need to contemplate his howl; he drank hard and could not control the hound-wolf. He slowly transformed and shifted his shape, no cry did Angelica make. She knew that he sniffed blood and her pink shimmer lips betrayed her. She shivered more than the last or the many times before. She had lost herself in the clock tower and had forgotten that he had measured the time she no longer knew. The two face man was wild with anger and his pleasure at her quivering hand was the freshness he sought. “No different my sparkling dust, I sure that you like it more than when you left, I can see them in your eyes, each one, they will never conquer me, I claimed you first, I claim you after and Ill claim you in the end.” Angelica past into the night in silence, not the silence produced by loneliness, the stillness of her body and mind was that that of the dead, she did not feel, she did not see, she just breathed.

The sun was rising to melt away the crystal rocks that had formed on long grass blades. Nathan and the young boys woke to misty air and started to search for the lost sheep. They found them huddling by a large rock face soon after the crystals flowed down into the stream giving fresh life to the green and red creatures around it, even to the mist minds searchers of the lost flock. The sheep were stunned to be alone, collective grouping was their nature and all they knew. To spend the long night as two was the thing of wars. They lead the willing sheep to the greater collective of their own kind; Nathan sent the boys home.

The day brought many questions and he thought continually of the clock tower. It was the loneliness and bare cold of the night, when he light the fire, that he regained the purity of thought. Without noise and only the vibration of the earth, to mark a moving passage, he spoke to his inner and saw himself and the ghost he was in the world of book. It was this allowance of absolute separation from conscious minds that parted him to grasp his material substance in formation. It was this plain of grass and sky that gave him the power to live in both realms simultaneously. It was not a deliberate illusion created, this is more than a ghost, it was his omission that brought about the transparent state of life, that is when what is hidden is not shown, sourced not from a willing onset to deceive. Nathan could not fully justify his actions but the reflection upon it turned him into a shifter of realms without becoming a shape shifter or a two faced man. The duality of his nature was that it was a lie of the present and the truth of a future he would create. The future not yet formulated yet created, his duality of being and the two one worlds allowed his nature to be complete.

Duality is a specific nature, a state in which 1 is 1 yet 2. Its’ non-contradict is its very existence. Light is the purest dualism, both kinds of its entity make up its purpose. It travels within itself and leaps in bounds, from static moment to static moment, the in-betweens bordering on the tangent of possibility within the dimension it acts. Its transformation is a kiss to the object its touches and its essence becoming the object on which it interacts; light is thus non-deterministic as such. Light in its dualism remain the universes measuring rod, beyond its limit no other can be.

“How were the rock stream rivers?” Miriam asked her son. Nathan looked at his mother and materialised into substance.

Dust to the water mixed, starts to become one substance layer by layer, it converges towards unity although still separate the deeper one looks. The convergence is an unpredictable composition of the products character and of factors within and beyond it.

“Ma it felt like I was there for ages but the days past by quickly”. Nathan opened his book, written by some great minds average thoughts in context of the current, he tried to loss himself in the pages. Miriam sat down next to her son and the paper vanished into their binding. “Nathan I am here now and so are you, keep both of you with me.” Miriam remembered her own study and that of her Lost Love. It was a commonality of readers; she knew that one could not fully exist in book and present world simultaneously, without splitting oneself or stagnating in the limbo between. “So how is it all? You find many friends? A Girl?  How are the subjects?”

Nathan’s answers were surface skimmed at best, skipping across the lake yet never sinking into the depths. Miriam was distressed as she had hoped he would show and explain so that she could entre in unification the journey of soul, mind and heart. Already, after only a brief few sunsets had Nathan left the crib of birth and started to build a home that was his making. He started to feel his mother’s pain and began to speak about things around his land, never entering the boarders of the circle, only allowing a view of this new water stream hill mixing within him. “It sounds lovely…” and it was, stripped of the full truth and built of raw truths and halves. “How are Mr and Mrs?”, Nathan asked. “They are as always”. “As are you Mama”. “Yes I think the days here are longer and change little in comparison to yours up there”. It was not as true as Miriam believed for valley was almost as statics a time as the hill upon hills. The valley converged towards it more than a town or city does to its point of clock ticks. “Alright off to bed, Mrs wants to visit her son beyond you school, in the city which crests it slopping grass land and woods. She has asked that you travel a day earlier than expected. Miriam was saddened by the early arrival of departure, the premature birth of lose. Nathan was excited and his heart lifted at the news of sooner than expected. The umbilical cord snapped, and the 1 became 2 thus both were created and new.

Angelicas mother had been away since the first night she had arrived to arguments. Lilith strutted into the room and inspected her daughter, both envying and joyful of beautiful youth made. Angelica had forgotten the five mark brand of thunder and separated it from her known mind; it was well hidden, not even she could find the secret place it had been printed. “Mother I have to return a day early, I have to do some work before the new term starts.” Lilith was a little taken aback that her daughter wanted to escape so early from the concert metal street and tower for muddy hills. “I just arrived back, my angel dust” She wanted to know her daughter’s life to assimilate herself into the realms of new flesh body and ripening rosy cheeks. It was no real pain for they had never shared in oneness or a single beating heart. “Alright angel next time we will spend much time together”. Angelic had lied but so had her mother, for every next time and much had only equated to a fractured long tick of a broken time piece. Lilith went into her pillow feather and fur room. She looked at her reflection and drifted in and out of the mirror, becoming both reflection and object of refraction. She stripped the ruby red from her lips leaving faded rosy reds and pink border cracks. She powdered her nose outside and in and drifted into glass and feather.


Chapter 9

The collision of substance in the order of Chaos.


 As the electron to the photon a higher state of being is produced around the atom it occurs. Chaos is the word given to variables incalculable by the minds ability to grasp its own dimensions. There is no such thing in the larger context of things. Chaos is but a reorganization of random occurrence; it an ever growing order. Every passing minute the universe draws closer to an original state of stillness. Eventually the whole world will beat one rhythm, from the dawn of the 1st age to the end of the age. Infinity to the beginning and to the end bends upon itself producing a likeness, one signal vibration of neither here or there nor now or later.


The collision

When every dream you’ve ever had, every hope and desire of the beauty of the material world fades in a single kiss with one slow touch to bring you gently back, only to be lost in an instance with the second touch of tongues. Every breath becomes your last and you are crushed and lifted from all burdens in one moment, the moment hearts collide.

Your sweet lips, your warm tongue, your scent of wet dew forests, your skin, your face and mine next to yours. Your incomplete words lost in my forceful embrace. Your soft brown eyes closed for only you to see and my soft blue seeking to blend your image into my soul. It was but a few hours yet every moment was a lifetime passing, Now your warm body far from my side leaves my heart begging for its warmth if only once more, if only for a moment.

How strange that a stranger becomes known, how sad that one known becomes a stranger. How lost and found I am today, how full of regret, yet filled with the wisdom and joy that what has past has made me who I am in this present time and space. G-d if for but one second you could make me certain of the truth I seek; what a gift you would have given me but that is, I suppose, what heavens gates were made for. I guess I ask, for one thing, even if a man and those who claim to be yours condemn it, perhaps even you will pass Judgement upon it but G-d as great as you are, I trust that in your completeness and ask not to turn your face when my soul is lost in a kiss.

Angelica was enchanted by the encounter, she hardly knew his name and although she laid with many whose names she knew not fully or even, she had known them better. His name was all she wished to know. He left before she had fully awakened to ask. His lips had trembled yet two hands joined where stronger. His hands were stone and rough sands, she had never felt before such a touch to the rock, not knowing that a hand could feel like the mountain valley chest and arm hill, she lay naked in deep waters.  The breeze blew over the crest of her lower back up towards her rose pebbles and peaks. She could hardly see through the blizzard of her head. She had rarely filled her body with such quantities of substance but never had she been so sober with life when the touch had first occurred. The encounter had produced a state where the body and mind could not be poised by disillusion; it even fought and attacked the numbness of pure wines and called mind and heart to subdue the spirits of drink, blind chatter laughter, and week dancing feet.

Nathan stumbled back to the boy-man house; slowly it filled the empty cups. It had only been him and a few others in the night; the small mixture had made for a powerful and raging fire. Enough air to breath and the right amount of fuel to add. The darkness had not fully ended; the sun had already started to beg and demand its turn. As the light hit him he remained the same man that howled to the moon in the night, not even the rays of light could change the shape of his shadow nor did the moon cloud sky disguise the noise from the calls of the roaster on watch.

The term’s first night back always kindled the first of the first times. It had the same passion for wildfires yet the rain of known eased the heat it produced, stronger fuel was needed to draw them all closer to that which was the laughter of newborns. Nathan sat between a rat and a parrot, sober old friends, and new unfound swapped light ease conversations. They spoke of the world of time from which they returned. Snow-capped peaks, fashion feet and long drawn, head bee sleep, was the material of the Others ticking clocks. So busy with objects that none had taken in or dived into dark waters. His laughed and the ghost grew ever more transparent.

Angelica was less of a storm; her hail fury wind was a soft breeze. “Come on Angelica we got too… He’s a 3rd year, dress for sex, stay perplexed eat your sorrow there will be morrow to flutter and fidget. Sly to the slither he demanded, the boy-man of marble floor-crash though door felt the sting of the night lost, thinking that he would always taste her lips and figure tips. She puzzled her unknown encounter; like a worm to the wood, the five brand thunder crawled its way to a place she knew. The death of memory is more a slumber of thought. The suppression of the unwanted produces an unnatural attempt to separate a reality which is part of one’s universe in which it resides; it cannot separate from the place of its creation as it is part of the creation itself. When the purity of will, wishes and hopes, it becomes harder to fortify it, to keep it in its cage, it will fight until its being is acknowledged and accepted as testimony to its existence. She laughed and the ghost grew ever more transparent. Slither my sly ate the dead, he lay down the bread and buttered the coast, he the Host of  Ghost, shy you die, then deny my cry, I fry the chi, forget the debt it was my gambling bet.

Immortal my last name, the first my father’s shame, it’s all a game when I drain that which is said. Forget your collar jacket black and tie, three more until I fly and stalk the shy. One blue the rest see though lemon and salt, bitter is one gulp, 123.

Nathans shift started early, dishing out the spirits of choice he saw the reflection beyond the bottle, she vanished. He knew her presence was near, he felt her heart and yearning lips. Connected as they were in the unknown plains, the magnetic forces drew and pushed as they flipped from north to south.

“Nath, why do you always have to work so much, take a break, disss the shift tonight; we going to the empty church and up the hill of temperance memorial.” “The moon is full; eat your right of night…” “Sorry chops and champs I can’t.” Nathan served the wolf, bears, and dogs, fuelling the howls of the deep dark.  It was late and early as he walked up the steep slope towards the boy-man house. The road was wet and cold, a few stumbled together to keep warmth and find a nest or hard book desk, others walked alone and painted the road with the inner of the dark-light mixed.

The period of learning was like a constant wave of ups and downs. Test your semester and drink your wines. Now it’s fines, then dress to impress, feaster your feet, eat and sleep, the rest will keep.

The first examinations were around the corner, many traded the night’s wildfires for hot black oil and pills to redirect euphoria. The nights had become deep with paper and pen, strained red eyes and stained hands brought mornings unwillingly by, that and nerve on thought were the howls of order and trade. Examinations, test memory more than the complexity of understanding and new paths of sight, it asks not answers, only begging its own questions to be extended. The men and women of locksmith memory did well to the word on paper. They regurgitated the cud of great book and text unknown. Nathan and Angelica did mediocre to the pen and paper but their skill was never pure mediocrity, as the system wished their gifts to be. The hope of free mind and expression of more was murdered by lecturing and the economies that held the knife, dictating the dictatorship of percentage.

The many had left and few still wrote or had just finished the last of their papers. Air was again in much abundance and the few let it feed the fire.

Angelica had lied again and thus a day early became a day late as it had before in reflection. She walked with storms surrounding and the wind blew stronger. Nathan waited to her needs as the flocks begged her to sip and grow in magnitude. He worked the last shift of term… “Free! Here! To her, from me, slither my sly”. The storm raged on but silence was his and hers as they wondered the names of the other, not fully forgotten yet remembered in part.

Late dawn and sun begged and demanded but the moon held its own. Glass by glass each cup emptied down the tunnel into the drain; the last bell had ended the spring which gushed and overflowed into cup and man. The floor, table, and chair became cold wood as one by one the last few fell through open doors onto the street and the place the gutter meets. Nathan looked around, the pub was empty. He cleaned the last tables and tallied the silver coin of night wine. He walked towards the front entrance and deemed them to allow no more to enter.  A sound called him; it was rushing water and painful claws. He approached the parallel demarcation of the biological. Girl/boy… girl. Knock knock. “Are you Ok?” He asked. He was forbidden to enter but she was the only gatekeeper and her aching sound gave him the needed key to pass through into the room of mirror lip glass and eyelash pillar. “I’m coming in”. On the floor cuddling the white water well, her golden hair concealed her face, he parted the curtains, blue eyes met his. “Um, um… I’ll take you home.” He picked her up and arm to arm they crashed onto cold wet streets. “Where’s your car?” she asked. “I walk from here, where is your house?”  “Don’t be a two-faced man!”; “What?”. “I know you can see me, feel my inner side, and touch my lips”. So they walked to find the nest the night had spoken of, silence upon the path was spoken by tapping feet as they trod the well wore path of days.

Nathan lay next to her as she entered a soft shallow sleep, willing not to fall into deep water of slumber unknown. She had stripped off her dress, he remembered how it had fallen down her smooth shape and skin as it touched her in ways he could not. He stared at her beauty and the misty heap of silk thread upon the floor. She pulled him towards her, flung off his top, unbuttoned his trousers and giggled when they failed to fall off completely near the naive of his belly. She whispered like a breeze into his ear “You can’t sleep in cloth; my skin is yours and your coat of fur is mine, heat me with your rays and gentle be thee ways. The wine had been stronger than before; she had fallen asleep as she drifted down towards the bed, with one kiss upon the valley of man she vanished into his arms.

Nathan burst through the dust into the valley, Angelica through the mist of clouds. She flew over the green water gardens and dry thorn wooded trees. Nathan scanned the sky, seeing the metal bird; he wondered how it must be to fly in a cage above the earth. The trail it left, light into gold and purple strikes as the sun sunk down to the other side of the world.


 Chapter 10

The unification of being

The interaction of the self and the other.

 Mr and Mrs spoke to Nathan for hours on end, mostly about his studies. Nathan sounded discontent to them and his eyes shone little for the clock tower. “You’ll become an academic or a lost man if you rebel against what has been set, you cannot change what is yet, you must struggle first and mark your place, my boy”. He knew Mr was somewhat right; strange as it is, unconnected as it may be, a piece of Angelica had broken off inside of him and he in her. With the fragmented and unified, a part of the static solidified in the world of flowing time. The setting suns and rising moons no longer held their force of day or night. He awoke again next to her in his bed.

They spoke sober words and hands no longer trembled, other than from the fear that time would flow into the waters, its flood was held back by the press of sweat and breathes of dew drop windows, the sacrifice of droplets to the river and stream was enough to appease the weather, sea, and sun for now. The lights rose and set yet neither light nor dark penetrated the realm of unity which had formed its barrier, no, they were external things. The castle walls became fortified as their existence and names became known. Ghost as they were, here they were neither nothing nor something. They were only what they were, as they knew it to be.

They touched again, not new fire’s call to a loss, but each moment to its own. The kiss and fog glass stormwater droplet windows, thunder external to face, warm love and embrace, no static vibration nor the tick of time, was complete. The energy of unity forming, they took in the soul of each and eyes meet from top to feet… I’m complete, ease my cry, let us fly don’t be shy, don’t dye I’m yours and you are mine but neither are we, as you are my am and I. No ghost no host, duality in oneness, the more you look the greater the contradiction of one’s of twos. This Nathan is to you and Angelica to me.

The Shadows of non-existence.

What a thing it is to have a shadow; a reminder that our presence is real, that we are. When the night falls we cannot see it follow, we are alone, no testimony to our being. With no light to check our every move, it is perhaps for this reason that so many lose themselves, not certain of their own existence, not even certain if their matter is matter. There are others who have light internal, their existence, not of material substance only but of light itself, in their presence, though darkness surrounds, we find our shadow and become. The perplexing thing is that depended on the light shining upon, it judges whether we are truly present or not. The wave of height and power radical can pass through our very person; speaking of no testimony, to it we are but nothing unless it touches and collides with itself inside. When it does, it takes not the purpose of its object but destroys it and states its own will. This occurrence is not to the mind’s reality but is subject to the laws which govern the non-conscious mass of matter, in context of the chaos’ unpredictability; its destiny in contradiction, a vibration of truth, of the non-living, living in absoluteness.

Marian sat in a wondering wilderness of thought, how life had been and could have been. She saw her shadow pass away as the sun set on the path back home. “Was she real at night?” asked she. Nathan had always walked with her home, the sun could have set but her existence was set in place by the boy who she gave birth to. As she trod the path, a belly crawler glimpsed her heal but so soft was the shallows of her step that it thought no anger to embrace her. The belly crawler had lived here next to the path for a year and a few. Nathan and his mother’s silent footsteps had agreed with its nature to attack mostly out of fearing instinct. Once he had tried to strike at his heal, to take the boy away to the world it lived. Slither my sly one day I will make you die.

We going to the coast of wild; a place no man of metal has truly lived nor seen. The waves of the past touch not its minds for the land is tied to the people beating heart and blood. Drum is their rhythm and sets the ones of people and earth to embrace the root-land of their birth. Come on Nathan it will be fun and you’ve worked enough now. Nathan did not want his ghost to grow colder and clearer so he agreed but used the money Mr sent for a time of enjoyment. He usually saved the penny to buy the future of clay. It was either cold coin for the substance or a life in the making, either has its fire but not the same vessel. His vessel near-clay was being heated on the east and west by different flames, this started to rip at the structure itself, but the potter kept the water mix wet and it turned and turned.

“I’m going to the coast for the long weekend with Them.”

“Take me with please I want to escape.”

“From what, from me?”

“no let together us be; so that not here nor there we are but rather everywhere, for only you and I too see.

Pass not through me, be within me”.

They kissed………

These are the moment within moments when one person loses their inner shells and the energy which surrounds them is shared. They become more than their mere singularity and more than what their own is. When chaos is organised and recognised; when as to the photon to the electron as it is when all is. A memorial not lost to the wind, soul to minds and mind to the soul so it is when a common universe is created, where laughter and sadness are joined from the hip to the bone. This is what has been sown.

Time you asked too many questions but in joy, you stop your pain, how I remember and how I will remember the joy of life, the moments of great sadness, the madness of each person I’ve seen and not. In light, in all your duality, all I wish to see is a remembrance to the surface, the perfection of the seemly imperfect moments none can touch…

The solar eclipse, when what is blinding reveals its inner and outer, when the mind is able to discover that which has blinded its thoughts or the blindness that man must prove to be as it is when the individual within the collective of individuals sees. Such is the revelation of sight, no man can bear the full ray, but when moon and sun in line in a perfect balance of unity then we gain the deepest insight to the world which surrounds us.

The crystallization.

The sea breeze was high and salty as they traveled. Music filled the in-betweens of laughter and chatter. They drove together but far apart. Not the distance that begs to be away and unconnected but rather the mind far into the landscape where thoughts wonder on different paths on the same plain. They were unified in the moment, within moments; their existence became external as they drove in a capsule that held their static motion of being.

A beautiful thing is the earth; the journeys’ destination was anticipated yet the road was a great joy in itself. They approached the beach-village as night lights and small fire flames sparkled across the hill and sky, touching open waters. The soft breeze blew through Angelicas golden strands, which gently crashed and crested to the rhythm of green leaves and dusty road. Nathan saw the mystery and new things in all. It would bond friendships yet crystallized. The landscape was a picture to the moon lights gentle rays, as it reflected the fire of fury upon the surface of its refraction.

“Have you got the tents?.

“What tents?”.

“We staying in the bungalow”

Disorganisation and a lack of solid communication formed the foundations in a random order; unified in their own presence, it mattered little. The great speakers and drum beats filled the open air.

Dance, drink and warm fire seek nature’s grace, upon dusty feet on clean dirt street and path. A parallel dimension within dimensions.

“ I am’s Mr frog , rabbit and hare”;

“What am I?”

“A bear of dear, a rock!”

Laughter in light air; serious playful scores.

.Chapter 11

The shift of flows. Rain to the Sea

A few years in passing and life had changed little, what had solidified between friends and lovers was now the full fabric of the static world, it would transcend or become one with the flow, as it entered into the sea. Ghost of host, slither and sly, a wolf-bare cry, a howling fox and a roasters call. Sun and Moon shadow, book and bone, mother distance and reconnected tails of old, Land valley of mud and clay springs that flow night and day. No longer do we know what to say or pray for the time has become to begin and end.

They all entered the valley of dust mixing-clay. Nathan met his mother; they all walked up the path of days.

“You walked my way , NO! Here you will stay. You to the earth of clay; I now slay the day. Earth you shall return, in the ground with me below. I will stock what I have sown to your blood and bone.”

“Nathan”,  Miriam cried, she knew the belly crawler by name.

He felt his body setting dust to air. He saw Angelica weep in stone face. Mrs gazed and Mr called.

He seek out, his friend from the first black bread and liquid green.

“Look after my mother, she is yours”

“Kiss me my love I’ll bring you back to life”.


Time you asked too many questions but in joy, you stop your pain, how I remember and how I will remember the joy of life, the moments of great sadness, the madness of each person I’ve seen and not. In light, in all your duality, all I wish to see is a remembrance to the surface, the perfection of the seemly imperfect moments none can touch. As time to the parallel will someday converge upon its’ own path so it is with the heart and mind. Sadness I have seen, I have felt, if joy could fill every moment of our every day we would never know the precious gift that joy is, sometimes the scientific, biological or dead geographic can set its perfect logical conclusions aside and embrace the ordered chaos, it is only because we cannot conceive that it is not real, but the inconceivability of the inconceivable is conceivable.

Composed by : Kevin Geyer

The Beginning

It is not for me to say, although it pains you that I do not. I could not write nor was it with in my power to do so. You must individually determine the end of the chapter. Collectively and individually,  it will be created and because you are not an author you will become……………